


Inbetween

by silentstephi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentstephi/pseuds/silentstephi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had an overbearing sense of responsibility. He couldn't decide to follow his faith or fight for his people. War was coming. Which side would they chose? A story of Sebastian Vael and Sorcha Hawke, for the Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang 2013.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - The Lucky One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you so very much to my beta readers, girlandherbooksblog and breadedsinner, for your amazing insight. I'm so very happy you helped me out as I scrambled for a beta. You guys are the best!
> 
> This story was inspired by the Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang and the lovely itsadrizzit provided a wonderful playlist as the art piece.
> 
> Entitled 'Change Your Mind' it can be found [here](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/11942930/Fanmixes/Change%20Your%20Mind.zip).  
>  **Description:** Fanmix centered around a somewhat tumultuous developing relationship between two characters. Songs begin with characters first meeting and end on a happy note as one (or both) looks back on their lives together and how things turned out in the end.

Deathroot had a unique odor. Overexposure to the root dulled the senses to its fragrance so anyone who dabbled in poisoncraft knew to avoid crafting their own poisons for too long.  A shift in the breeze late one autumn eve carried the sickly sweet scent of deathroot about the Chantry and made the hairs on the back of Sebastian’s neck rise.  The subtle hiss of an airborne dagger flew by his ear just as he ducked low and spun in his Chantry robes to face his assailant.    
  
A dark hooded figure brandished a knife in each hand, poised for battle.  The figure charged and before he could duck Sebastian felt the sting of the assassin’s weapon in his ribs.  The slice pierced his light cotton robe and Sebastian yelled in pain.  The assassin made to strike again but Sebastian moved out from under the swing.  He grabbed the assassin’s hand and twisted it up behind his assailant's back.  A high pitched yelp issued from the assassin and Sebastian revised his assumptions: the dagger clattered onto the marble floor as she dropped it.

Sebastian kicked her legs out to try and get her to ground but she slithered out of his hold.  Drawing a hidden dagger from somewhere on her person, the assassin crooned, showing rotted teeth and flaky skin under her hood.  “Nighty night, Princeling.”  Dagger poised she rushed him, intending to kill.  

“Oy!  Who goes there?”  A Templar from the second level had heard the scuffle and came to investigate.  The assassin glanced over at the newcomer and Sebastian didn’t waste the opportunity.  He dodged her thrust and launched himself at the woman, batting the dagger aside.  His time spent at Chantry had made his reaction slower than he liked, but it hadn’t made him soft .  His wound burned but survival instinct kicked in.  He connected and the both of them slammed hard against the ground, the breath knocked from her and bruised elbows for him.

“Over here!”  Sebastian called out to the Templar, keeping a firm grip on the struggling assassin.  He brought his elbow up below her throat and squeezed, cutting off wind.  “Go to sleep lass, we’ll have our answers out of you yet.”  

“Doesn’t matter.  You’re too late.”  She gasped, a wild look in her eyes.  Her hands scratched along Sebastian’s arm, digging furrows with her nails.  The stampede of approaching plated boots echoed through the halls, but before the Templar reached the them, the woman in Sebastian’s grasp convulsed.  Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and a red haze hung in the air as her orbs turned into pools of blood, leaking down the sides of her face.  

The air around them felt as if the pressure dropped and Sebastian looked up at the weight on his shoulder.  The Templar’s hand on rested there, gripping him and dragging him to his feet.  “Serrah, please, back away.  There’s magic in the air, I can feel it.”  

Sebastian nodded and stood up, his abdomen protesting the sudden movement.  “Maker’s breath, who is this woman?”  Fingers to his side, he felt the dampness of his blood on the robe and swayed.  The Templar steadied him.  “We should get you to the infirmary.”  

More Templars approached and Sebastian recognized one as Ser Evans.  He wore no helmet and his jet black hair  held no grey strands, though his weathered face belied his advanced age.  Evans nodded at the Templar at Sebastian’s side.  “Ser Teven, please take Messere Vael to see Mother Abigail.  The Grand Cleric has been informed and will meet you there shortly.”  Ser Evans cold blue eyes met Sebastian’s for a moment before glancing down at the dead assassin on the ground.  

Sebastian started to protest, but the words from his lips were garbled.  He knew the small dose would not have the full debilitating effect it normally enjoyed.  That didn’t stop his limbs from feeling like lead weights and the metallic taste in the back of his throat.  His mind was a jumble of thoughts, feelings and he swayed on his feet.  In his ill spent youth he had his fair share of close calls, this felt like one of those times.  

Lost in the fog of coming off adrenaline and the poison, Sebastian found himself in the infirmary and led to a cot.  An elderly woman in Chantry robes, rolled up sleeves and a mane of grey hair twisted up in a bun sat ready with water and a rag at the cot.  Sebastian, tongue thick in his mouth, said , “The knife wound isn’t deep, but the blade was laced with Deathroot.  Do you have any Willow’s Breath?”  

“Yes, yes, be silent young man.  Rest and let me have a look at you.”  Mother Abigail’s stern gaze quieted him as she stripped him of his bloody robes.  Her wrinkled hands gently washed the wound clean.  

Antidote retrieved and ingested, his wound clean and dressed, Mother Abigail gave Sebastian strict orders to rest.  The Templar who had answered his initial outcry, Ser Trevan, stood guard at the door.

Minutes later, Grand Cleric Elthina, trailed by Ser Evans and his second in command, Ser Geoffrey, entered the infirmary.  Elthina’s eyes looked strained, though they did flash with relief at seeing Sebastian well.  She gripped a crumpled piece of parchment in her hand.  

The haunted look in the Grand Cleric’s eyes got Sebastian to sit up from his resting position.  “Your Grace, what troubles you?”

She approached him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder that firmly pushed him back into the cot.  Standing there, her gaze sad, she seemed to be trying to find the words.  Finally, she held out the parchment to Sebastian.  “Maker be merciful, but best if you read this.  I am very sorry Sebastian.”

He restrained himself enough to not snatch up the offered slip of paper and read it.  With a grimace on her face Elthina watched  as what started as bewilderment on Sebastian’s face morphed to disbelief and then anger.  “No!”  He tossed aside the blanket and stood. The Templars who had hung back from the two started forward.  The Grand Cleric held out a forestalling hand to them and looked at Sebastian.  “Please Sebastian, don’t do anything rash.”

His gaze went cold as he looked at Elthina.  The woman who he considered both friend and mother could not stop the fury that kindled in his heart.  The blood rushed through his veins  and pounded in his head.  He needed an outlet.

He needed justice.

“If this is true, then my family has been murdered.  I must verify this.  If you will pardon me, Your Grace.”  As the hole in his stomach grew, he at least clung to his manners.  

She nodded and as she watched Sebastian march out of the room, a line of the missive came to mind.

_Lucky Bastard was squirrelled away under our noses this whole time…_

 


	2. Nicest Thing

“But it keeps them safe, how could you just send him away?”

The statement sounded like Carver all over again.  It acted as a painful reminder of her long dead brother and made Sorcha Hawke even more stubborn about her decision regarding Feynriel.  She tossed a stray red braid out of her eyes and wagged a finger in Sebastian’s direction.  “The Chantry isn’t the only answer you know.  A farmer with a scythe is just as dangerous as a mage with magic, and yet we don’t have Circles for wayward farmers, do we?”

Merrill looked over at Varric and rolled her eyes.  The Dalish elf cut another tangle of rope from her shutters as the group cleared debris from the last tempest.  Since the alienage nestled in Lowtown right next to the water, it bore the brunt of incoming storms.

The four of them had been heading to Arianni’s to help her son, Feynriel.  Hawke had caught word that he had returned from the Dalish.  As always, there had been troubles, and now they waited for the Dalish Keeper, Marethari, who hadn’t arrived yet.  Instead of sitting idle, Merrill put them to work clearing the elven homes.  

Since the ex-Chantry brother had joined their merry little band of misfits and outcasts, he and Hawke frequently bantered politics.  Most of the time they kept a civil tone, though Sorcha could get loud and long winded in her opinions.  Varric swore at times those two just looked for things to argue about.  Like they enjoyed the sound of each other’s bickering voices.

Sebastian cut a tangled sail loose and it flopped to the ground with a soggy slap.  “It seems letting him live with the Dalish hasn’t helped him, so why not give him the choice of the Circle?”

Hawke snorted, lifting a wooden beam out of the way of a neighbor’s doorway with Merrill’s help.  The two heaved and the beam toppled, snapped and settled near the wall.  “Oh sure, now he has a choice.  Our intervention gave him that.  There are so many more that don’t!  It’s not right to just paint all mages with the same brush.”

Sebastian paused in coiling the stray rope of the sail to look at Hawke, who had her back to him as she moved one of the planks. Without the bulk of her armor, he could see the muscles of her broad shoulders flex under her cotton shirt.  He shook his head to stop staring and said, “I realize that, but the Circle has worked out for the best. “

“You’re wrong.”  She turned with the broken plank in her hands, arms barely straining to hold the weight.  Her eyebrows furrowed and the slight flush of anger to her cheeks reminded Sebastian of a wild cat.  An angry one.   

“So you’re here to gather an army to take back your birthright, right?  You do realize that it’s crazy what you’re trying to do?  Ask any noble in this bloody town to help you reclaim that crown of your’s, guess what they’ll say?  Can’t be done.  It’s not possible.  But you’ll do it anyway.”  She threw the plank down in the debris pile, throwing up a small dust cloud in the process.  “Because you know it’s the right thing to do.”

His answer caught in his throat as he paused in thought.  Hawke, Maker preserve, resisted the urge to storm up to the man and punch him.  That royal attitude of his surfaced at the strangest times during their discussions.  She’d taken him on an errand here, a mission there.  Sebastian enjoyed helping those in need, an admirable quality and one he seemed quite generous in.  Most times, it didn’t matter what walk of life the unfortunates chose or ended up in.  Sure, his belt got into a minor twist when Hawke made a tidy profit around the law, but he eventually would get over it.

“I… see your point.”  And that was it.  Just like that, argument over, as Sebastian walked over to Varric to help the dwarf with a few elves and another pile of washed up flotsam.

It left Hawke staring after him, blinking.  “Did I just win?”  

Merrill giggled and gave her arm a pinch.  “Oh right as if it’s that easy.  ‘Tis a game then, should I keep track?  Point Hawke?”

They both laughed and got back to work.

 


	3. I'm Not Going Anywhere Without You

He couldn’t get the blood to stop flowing, hot and slick through his fingers.  Frantic to get her shoulder wrapped, Sebastian hadn’t noticed the gash in her leg until he felt more warmth on his knees.

He’d been sloppy.  Hawke had asked him in the market to make a short trip out to the Coast for an ingredient for Herbalist Solvitus.  She’d been so charming, “Only a quick dash, come on!” How could he have done anything else but say yes and go?

They hadn’t counted on the weather turning foul.  Engrossed in argument over the upcoming hunt for the corrupt Templar Ser Alrik, when the first raindrops fell they had to rush to find shelter.  That’s when they were ambushed.  He should have seen the signs.  He should have urged Hawke to stop by the barracks to nab Aveline or the Hanged Man for Varric and Isabela before they left.

Hindsight brought cold comfort, and in the here and now he had to try to stop her bleeding.  The smell of copper and musty body odor of the dead bandits mingled in the harsh breeze, making Sorcha gag.  “I need you to hold still Hawke.  The potion didn’t cover all of your injuries.”  Another look at her arm and his frown deepened.  He could feel the fracture in her arm through her bicep.  She flinched and whimpered at his touch.  He grimaced and said, “I have to set this.  Please, don’t move.”

She closed her eyes and nodded, preparing herself for the pain.  With quick, sure movements he reset the bone and wrapped it tight with bandages and the scabbard of one of the bandit’s daggers as a makeshift split.  Her head lolled back and with a gentle slap he brought her back from the blackout.  She couldn’t pass out now.  She could have a concussion.

He couldn’t carry her back to Kirkwall.  Leaning over her a sharp burning pain shot through his back and shoulder, belying gashes of his own.  He rolled his shoulders, remembering now the two bandits that had surrounded him. They must have scored him then.   He didn’t feel light headed, so his cuts weren’t bleeding him dry.  While his injuries stung, they didn’t feel as severe as Hawke’s looked, so he ignored his own pain for now.

She moaned and cracked a lid open at him.  “Hurts…”  Her eyes fluttered and his heart stopped as her head lolled back again.

“No no no, stay with me Hawke.  Stay with me.”  Her mabari, Fergus, nudged at her hands, whining at her to wake.  Sorcha’s eyes fluttered and she focused them on Fergus, the fingers of her good arm clutching around his snout.  He licked the blood and grime off them in reassurance.

“That’s a good lass.  Say, where exactly did you get this lovely beast?  I’ve heard stories, Feraldan’s famous for her dogs, but you’ve never told us about this boyo.”  He had to keep her talking, keep her awake.  For once, he desperately wished Anders had been there.

Sorcha tried to laugh.  He saw it shudder through her chest now that he had her breast plate off.  “Chose me.  Simple as that.”  Her head rolled to the side and she licked her lips, wheezing.  It sounded like a sprained rib.  She had taken a few solid blows to the chest before running the leader through with that huge sword of hers.  “Cam’s bitch had a litter, Fergus never left my side after I first saw him at three weeks.  Cam said it was fine, but he’d been sore over the whole thing when all the pups started bonding with the other children.  I think he hoped to sell the lot.”  As she coughed up blood, he held her up to clear her throat.  He felt her tremble as she rested on his legs.  

“That so?  Well, he’s done right by you.  Took out a fair bit of this rabble all on his own.  I’ve always been a horse man, myself.  I think I can be converted though.”  He smiled down at her but saw her losing focus. He wiped a finger over her cheek, smearing the blood, sweat and rain.  “Right here, Hawke.  I need you to stay focused.”  

His finger lingered.  He needed to keep her talking but he felt the strong beat of her heart and went silent.  She stared into his eyes, and he felt her heart rate quicken.  The blood loss made it hard for her to stay awake and her eyes fluttered.  Sebastian cleared his throat, then ran his finger over the tattoo on the side of her face.  “Tell me about your tattoo.  Tell me anything, Hawke.  Just keep talking.”

She wheezed again, the laughter short, but her eyes opened again, and a sliver of her typical sparkle came back.  “I lost a bet.”  

His brows shot up and he smirked.  “Oh?  Tell me about it.”  He offered her a sip of his water skin, then looked out over the cliffs edge.  His concern grew when he realized their respite from the storm after the brawl had come to an end.  The sky had darkened in the distance, the sunset and more rain promised on the horizon.   He gripped her close.  “Hold that thought.”

His cuts would have to wait.  He needed to carry her back.  Gently he laid Hawke onto the ground and grabbed her shed armor.  He knew it was a good three hour trek back to the city.  They needed to get moving and he couldn’t carry her and all that plate.

“Even better, tell me about it on the way back.  Pass the time away.”  She murmured something as he buried her armor in a safe spot.  He picked her up with care and jostled her onto his back, then started the trek back to Kirkwall and to a healer.  Maker pray that he made it back in time.

 


	4. The Air

The denizens of Kirkwall rarely saw snow inside its gates.  The last time Sebastian had seen snow in any city, he had been in the courtyard of his father’s palace.  Starkhaven’s winters, while mild, could produce the icy powder from time to time.  Playing in it as a child had always been a treat, and while memories of his home did not sting like they used to, thinking of his dead brothers and the games they used to play made his heart ache.

The Chantry grounds were silent.  The occasional Mother walked by on an errand.  The nights came sooner now but there were still chores to be done.  Her Grace, Grand Cleric Elthina, went to visit  the smaller temple in LowTown.  Sebastian had volunteered to light candles for the evening vigil.  He crouched over the candle wicks on the balcony when a glint of steel in the corner of his vision caught his attention.  

In the courtyard stood two familiar figures.  Hawke’s dark armor looked polished to a shine, and she spoke in low tones with Guard Captain Aveline.  Seeing Hawke gave his stomach a twinge, but he chastised himself for the stray thought.  That didn’t stop him from making his way closer to the two women though.  He stood in the shadows, around the bend of the balcony.  The acoustics of the courtyard made it just the right spot for the women’s conversation to carry to his ears.  The topic of conversation intrigued him.

“She’s having a hard time of it.  I can tell.”  Hawke sighed and sat on the bench, regret and pain creasing her brow.  Aveline tossed her thick braid over her shoulder and sat next to her friend.  Since the day Sebastian met Hawke, Aveline seemed like a rock solid friend for the capricious warrior.  

“But she’s alive, right?  She can thank you for that.” Aveline’s tone sounded reassuring, but she could see the doubt in Sorcha’s eyes.  

“I know,” said Hawke.  “Though it was Anders who helped the most.  I just wanted her to live.  But… Maker, Aveline, what was I to do?  I couldn’t watch my baby sister die.  Not like Carver.”  Grief lines sharpened on her face, childhood memories of her and Carver played across her thoughts.  The day he picked up her old practice sword and came at her.  Father’s sighs, Mother’s laugh.  

“You didn’t want her to end up like Wesley.”  Aveline’s solemn tone snapped Hawke’s head out of her reverie and she shook her head.  

“Oh Aveline, look at me grousing all about my sister, and here you are to honor your husband.  I’m sorry.”  Hawke pointed at the unlit candle in the woman’s gauntlet.  “Is that for him?”

Snowflakes alighted on their hair and the two red heads looked as if they had snow freckles.  “Yes.  I’ve had a lot on my  mind lately…”

Hawke laughed.  “I’ll bet.  Needs of the Guard and all… or at least one guard in particular.”  Her teasing tone was not lost on Aveline, who flushed scarlet.  “Just how is Guardsmen Donnic?”

“In fine form, as usual.  And before you ask, no, I’m not telling you how dinner ended up last night.”

Hawke’s eyes sparkled with mirth.  “Having second thoughts?”  

Aveline looked off towards the Chantry proper.  It surprised Sebastian, who, fairly sure his candle was out of sight, crouched closer to the pillar, disappearing into it’s shadow to avoid being caught eavesdropping.  She shrugged.  “Not exactly.  No.  Well.”  The older woman fidgeted, fighting for the right words.  “I’m starting anew.  I miss Wesley, but Maker knows I’m not dead.  And Donnic is a fine man.”

“I don’t doubt it.  Enjoy it, Aveline.  You’ve earned it.”  Hawke punched the other woman’s shoulder with affection.  Aveline glanced at her friend and said,  “Say, have you figured out how to approach-”

Hawke coughed and flushed scarlet.  “Maker don’t say it here!  If the Mothers hear about it I’ll never get a chance!”

Aveline snorted at Hawke.  “Oh come off it.  He’s not sworn yet.  If you want him, the least you can do is try.”

The struggle to stay for curiosity's sake and to leave for propriety’s sake warred inside him.  Fate, on the other hand, decided for him.

“Serrah, your candle is dripping.”

Sebastian dropped the candle which broke into pieces on the stone floor.  He looked up to see Sister Lorena’s cool stare.  

“Pardon Sister.”  His collar grew warm and he scooped up the broken wax bits before excusing himself and going inside.  In his haste and embarrassment, he had not noticed Hawke looking up at the commotion of the balcony, recognizing his voice, and biting her lip.

“And with that, Aveline, good night.”

The other woman chuckled and waved her friend on her way.  Turn about and fair play.

 


	5. Your Body

Steel on steel rang out in Hawke’s courtyard.  “Come now Fenris!  You’ve got a better show than that!”  Varric teased the elf.  Hawke and Fenris sparred in the center circle of cobbles and dirt, while Merrill and Sebastian stood towards the outer wall.  Both had bows in their hands.

Sebastian nocked another arrow and watched as Merrill imitated him.  “Exactly, good.  Excellent form.  Now, focus, drown out the distractions, and –”  The arrow loosed towards the other end of the wall and hit the straw target dead center.  

Merrill nodded and focused as Sebastian looked on.  Her draw was smooth, fletching to her ear and she loosed, but her arrow struck wide, bouncing off the back wall.  “Oh, the Dread Wolf take you, pointy stick!  Hawke, I can’t understand why you’d think this was a good idea…”

With sweat dripping down her brow Sorcha chuckled as she tossed her thick braid over her shoulder and leaned on her sword.  The move made Fenris grimace.  “Because, Daisy,” she said, “it’s good practice to laying low and not having to blast everything with magic.  I told you that you could say no.”

Merrill’s gaze flitted back and forth between Sebastian and Hawke and sighed.  “Aye, right.  It just seems like a waste of time, really.  But I can see your point.  The Templars have been nosing around in the alienage.  It would be wise to pretend another sort of life.”  She drew another arrow from the quiver on her back and looked at it with trepidation.  

Sebastian only smiled.  “Take your time, Merrill.  ‘Tis better if you don’t force the learning.”

She smiled at him and took her bow to the side line.  Another clang of steel on steel rang out, catching Sebastian’s attention.  

Fenris and Sorcha battled it on.  She called it ‘sparring’.  The ferocity both warriors went at it, Fenris’ overswing and Sorcha’s arms bulging under the blow to counter, it didn’t bloody well look like a spar.

It was hard to look away from her.  She danced with that sword in hand.  Fenris’ counterpoint to her melody.  He never had much chance to see her fighting except when they were all fighting.  His own survival as well as the others on the line didn’t give him much time to admire her form.  Sebastian felt his face grow hot while he watched Sorcha come out from another overhand from Fenris and turn into him, pinning the elf against the wall.  Maker preserve, he could feel his ire rise.  Was he jealous of Fenris now?  

Varric, having quietly made his way over to Sebastian’s side of the courtyard, startled the Prince out of his thoughts.  “You know Choir Boy,” the dwarf said in low tones.  “I have yet to see you go toe to toe with our fearless leader, and these stories don’t just make themselves.  Hawke,” he rose his voice, calling out to Sorcha.  “Let the elf catch his breath.  It’s Sebastian’s go.”

Sebastian clamped down a sinful train of thought and turned to Varric with a slight panicked look on his face.  “I’m not sure that’s wise...”

Sorcha let up on Fenris and removed her glove to wipe her forehead clear of sweat and stray hairs.  “Oh?”  Her eyes lit up and she nodded at Fenris, who excused himself.  “Well then, get over here. It’s about time I got you in the ring.”

“Hawke, you’re tired, I wouldn’t…”

“What, think a little dance here with Fenris has me all tuckered?  Thinking to spare my feelings at routing me before we’ve even started?”  She laughed.  That decided him.  He couldn’t let her think him a coward, and he always liked a challenge.  

“Well, since you sound so fresh, shall we?”  He made his way over to the dirt circle, unbuckling his belt to take his chest piece off.  Sorcha wore no armor, just practice leathers.  Knowing he would need freedom of movement he decided to go without his own.  

Nevermind the smirk at the corner of Hawke’s mouth as he took the armor off and picked up his bow.  He knew the effect he had on women in the past.  Working with Sorcha this past year had kept him in top form.  He enjoyed the appreciation he saw, even if it made his own thoughts stray.

The two circled each other.  Sebastian had his grandfather’s bow in hand while Sorcha let the point of Mercy hang low.  Varric and Fenris spoke in low tones, no doubt wagering on the outcome.  Merrill looked on with wide eyed excitement.  

Sorcha closed the distance.  He knew she would as she had proven in previous battles that she could be impatient to a fault.  He side stepped her initial thrust and parried her follow through with the side of his bow.  The sturdy wood held up against her blunted sword, causing his bow no damage. As she breezed past him, he quickly drew a flat headed arrow, knocked and loosed all in one breath.

The blunted arrow dug into the dirt where Hawke’s back had been.  Since he began adventuring with her, Sebastian’s close combat archery had improved substantially.  Just not enough to catch her, it seemed.  Opposite him in the circle, he saw the twitch of her shoulders and her feral grin, right before she pounced.  She lunged, sword hilt aimed for his chin.

He threw himself back, not wanting to take the blow to his jaw, dropping into a roll to get out of the way.  His bow clattered in the dirt - better to let it loose than to have it snap under the weight of his acrobatics.  She stayed on top of him, hindering her own leverage but preventing him from drawing another weapon.  With a sharp twist left and sudden turn she had the sword at his throat.  Her face flushed as she panted heavily.  

“You give-?”  Hawke’s statement cut short, as she felt the sharp point of a dagger poking her wrist.  The short warm blast of laughter next to Sebastian’s ear sent fire straight to his gut, and he slipped her hold, his dagger between them.

“Oh, I have a few more tools at my disposal.  Can’t make it too easy.”  

“Please, don’t.”  Her green eyes looked wicked with dark thoughts as she grinned at him, and they circled each other once more.  His heart raced as his hand gripped the dagger handle.  Not his weapon of choice, but good in a pinch, and he took a gamble this round and took the initiative.  Hawke weaved and dodged his attacks, enough that he discerned her pattern, catching the sword up on the binding to flip it out of her hands and onto the dirt.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she feinted to the side, then dove for her sword.  Sebastian caught her midway, grabbing one wrist and twisting it around her back, pressing her close.  His lips to her ear he panted.  “You give?”

She huffed a laugh, hot breath on his face, but the smirk never left her lips.  “Guess again.”  He felt a small pinprick of a pressure at his ribs.  Her free hand had a small dagger pointed at his heart.  

They both glanced down at the small slip of metal, then she looked up at him.  His world narrowed to only her.

“Messer!  A runner for you, it’s the Viscount!”  Like a shock of cold water on the two of them, Sebastian stepped back.  He saw Hawke swallow her anger at the interruption and turn to Bowden.  The dwarf, oblivious to the charge in the air, looked excitedly at Hawke.  Sebastian glanced over at the others.  Varric gave him a wink while a sullen Fenris flipped the dwarf a coin.  Merrill looked disappointed.

Well, nice to know Fenris thought well of his skills, at least.

 


	6. You Don't Love Me

“Isa, I swear he is going to drive me stark raving mad.”

The dusky pirate queen giggled at Sorcha’s head thunking on the bar in exacerbation.  “You mean _Starkhaven_ mad, love.  Why you decided to set your sights on the Chantry lifer when you could have the pick of a very fine litter, I can’t imagine.  Is it the accent?  Must be.  I’ve entertained showing up to the Chantry just to hear his readings.  That’d be a treat, wouldn’t it?”  Isabela winked at Hawke, who hadn’t looked up from the bar.  “Keep chasing him, love.  It’s fun to watch.”

The evening crowd started to pick up in the Hanged Man since the two women had arrived for drinks.  Hawke’s thoughts ran rampant over the events of the past week.  The Viscount’s missing son, Fenris’ attack by Tevinter slavers, and their harmless sparring match that she could not stop replaying in her head.  She had been within kissing distance of that maddening archer, she _had_ him, and then fate snatched him away.  

“Bohdran still can’t fathom why I’ve been so cross with him.  Oh blast, it wouldn’t be so horrid if he’d at least been by the estate in the past week.”  She downed the rest of her ale and waved another from the bartender who refilled her glass without question.  He knew her coin was good.  Varric had established her reputation well, the noblewoman that liked slumming it.

Isabela patted Hawke’s shoulder.  “Well why not just confront the man?  You’re both adults.  It’s obvious there’s something between you.  If Merrill can see it...”

“Believe me, I’ve tried.  He gets all ‘Chantry Brother’ on me, and excuses himself or changes the subject.”  Hawke pouted then looked at her own belt and it’s plain buckle.  “What should I do?  Put the Maker’s face on my belt?  I dare say I might. Just to give that belt of his a kiss.”  The constant drinks since they had arrived had given her a heady buzz, and they laughed at the absurdity.

“More likely that buckle of his just kicks him and whispers his vows into his ear.”  Isabela’s wicked laugh sounded she delighted at the thought.

“Vows he has not affirmed, I might add.”  Hawke pointed out.

Isabela rolled her eyes.  “I know.  I’m still trying to track down some of those stories of his so called ill-spent youth.”

Hawke blinked at her friend.  “Really?  Why?”

Isa chuckled and pushed around some of the coins on the bar.  “Curiosity, mostly.  That much outward purity practically begs the question.  What’s he hiding?  Something extra wicked, and I intend to find out what.”  She winked at Hawke, who only grunted into her mug.  The teasing thought that Sebastian had some sort of vagabond past felt like a misdirection.  But she’d never known Sebastian to lie.

Just then the door to the bar opened and Sebastian walked in with Fenris in tow.  The two men were deep in conversation and didn’t even look at the bar.  Instead they headed to the back of the tavern like they were meeting someone.  

Stella, the barmaid, gave Sebastian a wide smile and fetched them drinks when they took a seat.  Hawke lifted her hand to wave the boys over but then stopped mid-wave, sat back and sulked.

“Oh Isa, what am I going to do?”  She deflated into her bar stool, trying hard not to stare over in the corner.  

“Andraste’s arse, woman, go over there and talk to him!  I haven’t seen that white haired demon in weeks!  Let me at him.”  The pirate slammed down the rest of her ale, slid from her stool and sauntered her way over to the boys in the corner, all smiles and smolder for Fenris.

Sorcha sighed.  Facing darkspawn felt far easier than trying to wrestle the gnawing pit in her stomach when it came to Sebastian.  She knew the battlefield.  She knew the run of a house and providing for friends and family.  But matters of the heart always eluded her.  

She missed Bethany.  She would have understood.  Her baby sister had always been good at ferreting out her sister’s feelings for someone before Sorcha even knew they were there.  She hadn’t heard from Bethany in months.  Her last letter said something about investigating disturbances ‘up north.’  Vague and non-answering.  That had been the nature of their communication since she became a Grey Warden.

Forget talking to Mother about it.  She already had sights on a few noble sons that Sorcha couldn’t be bothered with.  Most of the nobles in Kirkwall fainted at the sight of a woman with a sword.  She had been so singular in that she had reclaimed her family’s nobility without help from the men in her family.  

Isabela’s laughter pierced through her thoughts as she looked over at their table and saw Varric had joined the trio.  She gulped down her drink, pulled up her mental britches and walked over to her friends.  At least she could find out what had made Isa laugh.

 


	7. Change Your Mind

Laying on the cold stone floor of an out of the way cave on a frigid night on Sundermount, the chill down Hawke’s spine instead came from the cold shoulder her friends gave her tonight.

Merrill slept, content with her tool to help fix her broken mirror.  Fenris had gone to sleep grumpy, his back to the fire and Sorcha.  His mood had soured when Hawke handed the Arulin’Holm over to Merrill as they made their way back to Kirkwall.  

Sebastian sat outside the small cave they chose for shelter, keeping watch on an outcropping of rocks above the entrance.  While he hadn’t gotten sullen at her choice, she could hear the silent protest.  He had mentioned that if the elder Keeper thought Merrill’s venture unwise, Hawke should perhaps take heed of the warning.  Merrill ignored him.

Sorcha couldn’t sleep.  Too many thoughts running through her mind.   She sat up, stretched out a few of the kinks from the cold rock and picked up a sturdy stick to prod at the fire.  She shoved the stick into a glowing log and watched as the log crumpled.  

“You’ll burn it too quickly that way you know.”  Sebastian’s voice startled her.  

“I’ll build it back up.  Don’t you worry.”  Her surly defense of the gesture rang hollow in her ears and she sighed.

“You should sleep.”

“I can’t.”

His brow raised at that, and she scowled.  His finer facial features were unreadable in the soft fire light, so she couldn’t tell if he feigned stoicism  or if he was still upset at her earlier decision.

So as to not start a fight over the fire, she stood and walked out to the entrance of the cave.  She had her cloak wrapped tight around her shoulders.  Good for chilly nights like this, but the layer of snow on the ground wasn’t melting any time soon.  “I don’t understand why everyone’s so upset with Merrill.  She’s a Dalish.  They deal with blood magic all the time.”

Sebastian didn’t look at her, just out over the horizon, watching for threats, but more likely so he didn’t have to distract himself with how her hair fell into her face, framing it.  “Blood magic is wrong.  It corrupts.  The Chantry forbids it for a reason.”

“The Dalish are not Andrastian.  They have their own beliefs and gods who weigh in the matter.  Why does it always come down to one subjugating the other?”

Sebastian looked at Sorcha, and the wrinkled concern in his brow made her pause. "I worry because blood magic can take away the will from anyone. I fear the temptation to convince you of her good intentions could be coercion."

Sorcha sighed and pushed off the rock wall she had leaned on.  She needed to move.  Pacing helped her think and kept her warm.  “I trust Merrill.  I trust her not to go down that road.  You have to give trust or else the fear and doubt will drive any sane person to an ‘easier’ if immoral course.”  She heard a twig snap and dropped her cloak, reaching for her sword.  She relaxed when she saw Sebastian climbing down from his perch.  No enemy ambush in the night.

“Magic is only a tool you know.  My father was quite clear on it’s benefits and it’s pitfalls.”

“So your father was a mage?”  Sebastian sounded as if confirming his suspicions.  

Hawke bristled.  “Yes, what of it?”  

“Nothing,” Sebastian said, hands up in surrender. “I just remember hearing about it in passing.  While Hawke is an up and coming name, Amell is still well known in the noble circles of Kirkwall and beyond.”

Sorcha relaxed and stopped pacing to look out into the wilds.  The silence grew, not quite uncomfortable, but she could feel color creeping up her neck from his silent scrutiny.  

“Do you think I use my skills for good?  I think  you do, otherwise you wouldn’t stick around.”  She glanced over at him and swallowed her tongue.  He had moved closer, a comfortable arms length between them.

He chuckled softly.  “You’d be right.  I see the good you do, and that you do it.  It’s an enviable quality you know.”

“No one’s stopping you from doing what needs to be done, Sebastian.  It’s not that special when you approach everything the same way.”  She turned to face him.  He looked down at his hands and frowned.

“It’s not that simple.  I made a vow-”  

“Yet you have a responsibility to Starkhaven.  Why run from it?”

“I will not be an oath breaker, Hawke.  What kind of example is that?”  He turned to pace, now needing movement to burn off his discomfort.

“Haven’t you done that already?  You’re not a Chantry brother.  You’re not in Starkhaven now, reclaiming your family title.  You’re in some in between state.  And you’re the only one keeping yourself back, you know.”   _Or was it something else?_  She thought, heart in her throat.

He stayed silent, and Sorcha shivered as the breeze brushed by her shoulders.  Standing around talking didn’t do much to get the blood rushing.  Sebastian noticed her chill and laid a hand on her shoulder.  “You should rest.  We have a long march back to the city tomorrow.  And Lady Harimann to confront.”

She side eyed him and harrumphed, letting her pulse subside and hiding her disappointment.  “Can’t dodge the decision forever you know.”  But she complied.  She picked up her cloak and headed inside the cave to sleep.

 


	8. Platform Fire

“Sebastian, look out!”

The burn in his ribs meant Hawke's warning had been a moment too late. With a spin and a sweep of his bow, Sebastian knocked his assailant off the roof. Another scream and crash added to the cacophony of battle around them.

With a quick thrust of Sorcha’s sword a slaver yelped and splashed into the bay as she knocked him over the edge of the docks.  She looked back up at Sebastian’s perch.  Her stomach dropped when she saw him, chest first, unconscious and hanging over the edge of the roof.

"Aveline! Cover me!"

“On it!” The captain of the guard slammed her shield into the teeth of a foul smelling bloke and tossed him into the group of three other bandits that headed for Hawke. Sorcha ducked to the left of the tumbling group then ran for the stairs leading up to the warehouse roof.  Her mind raced with all sorts of scenarios, all centered around one thought: this rescue mission of theirs just kept getting worse.

First, their carefully planned ambush at the south side pier had been spotted. Varric had cordoned off the slaves but their plans hadn't counted on the number of mages in the slaver’s employ.  Aveline and Sorcha planned on driving the slavers back into the waiting arms of the city guard down the alleyway.  But out of the dozen slavers, over half were mages, and that was more magic than any of them had planned to overcome.

Sebastian’s perch had been a solid choice at first but fireball after fireball had kept him pinned.  Varric liked to be in the thick of things but even his trusty Bianca couldn’t keep all the slavers at bay.  If time had not been so short, she would have sent for Anders or Merrill, but neither had been home.  They had to act fast as the slavers shipped out tonight.

As Hawke crested the roof, Sebastian’s limp form started to tumble over the edge.  “Sebastian!”  She dropped her sword and dived.  Her fingers gained a hold of his charred hood and she yanked him back up on the roof.  

He smelled of sulfur and burnt leathers and his head lolled to the side.  Sebastian stirred once Sorcha dragged him away from the edge.  His eyes fluttered and his voice slurred.  “Poison.  Soldier’s... bane.”  

“Blast, hang on.”  Hawke searched her belt, fumbling through her pouch to get at one of the vials Anders had prepared.  She unstoppered it with her teeth but when she looked at Sebastian his eyes widened.  She whirled to see two slavers.  With their swords held high they charged at Sorcha and Sebastian.  

She spared a curse for her sword half way across the roof where she dropped it and put her tongue on the tip of the vial, stoppering it temporarily.  She clamped her teeth on the stem of the vial and dropped Sebastian’s collar.  

As the two assailants reached them and swung, Sorcha lunged at the first to come in reach.  The whistle of the slaver’s blade as it passed over Sorcha’s back made her grit her teeth on the vial, but thank the Maker that it held.  She grasped the slaver’s arms and pivoted, using his momentum to throw him into his friend.  There was a surprised squawk as the two slavers collided and tumbled over the edge of the roof to crash down onto the street.  

The tip of Sorcha’s tongue tingled from the potion and she spat it out as she returned to Sebastian.  He panted, his eyes wide in surprise, and she knelt down beside him.

“Quick, drink it.”  She tipped his head back and dribbled the elixir into his mouth.  Soldier’s bane was potent stuff, but he could swallow.  She saw him work his throat and in seconds she felt his back muscles tense.  Sebastian looked up into her worried expression and she saw thoughts pass through his features.  Then his face screwed up in pain as the poison cleared and he coughed and heaved to the side, rolling off her lap.

“Are you ok?”  She saw blood on his chain shirt.  “You’re bleeding.”  

Sebastian sat up, wincing.  “‘Tis only a cut.  Nothing dire.”  

“My mabari’s ass.”  Sorcha ignored his protests and dug out a bandage from her pocket.   “That was a laced weapon, we need to stop the bleeding.”  She glanced over the edge of the building, and Maker preserve, Aveline’s guard had arrived.  Though she saw Templar crests and frowned.  A good thing Anders and Merrill hadn’t come then.  

“Looks like the cavalry has arrived, so let’s get this wound taken care of, shall we?”

Sebastian started to protest, but Sorcha gave him a look that made it die on his lips.  “As you wish.”

“He can be taught.”  She smirked as she unbuckled his chest plate, working his chain shirt out of the way.  

“My apologies Hawke, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

 _Anything to get you out of that armor, Choir boy._  Out loud Sorcha said.  “It’s alright.  Though I have to ask, fireballs are mostly dodgeable.”  She glanced at his singed hood.  “And yet daggers aren’t?  What’s gotten into you?”

He sighed as she loosened his chain shirt, then pulled his torn and bloodied cotton shirt up over his head.  With the immediate threat of death over, when Hawke’s rough fingertips brushed against his bare skin it dawned on Sebastian that Hawke had undressed him from the waist up.  Seemed excessive for a small wound but he let it go.  His ribs ached and burned, unable to make up their mind and the touch of her skin kept him distracted.  “I have a lot on my mind.”

“This will sting.”  She uncorked her waterskin as she lifted his torn shirt, exposing skin.  The seaside breeze gave him goosebumps and Sorcha had to bite her lip at the sight.  She poured the water over his ribs and cleaned off the wound.  Sebastian suffered her combat triage in silence.

“Come off it Sebastian.  What’s bugging you?  I’ve got my fill of silent brooding with Fenris.  What gives?”  

His blue eyes stared at her green and she could feel a flush crawling up her neck to her cheeks.  He looked away first.  “I cannot stop thinking about the demon.”

It took her a second and then it clicked.  “From Harimann’s?”  Sorcha asked.

“Aye.  She wasn’t lying when she said I had coveted my brother’s position. And Elthina still denies my plea to reaffirm myself to the Chantry.  I feel like her Grace knows something I cannot see.  I am lost at what to do.”

Sorcha snorted as she patted down his wound.  “What is so bloody important about getting divine approval for what you feel is right?”  The man could be so stubborn and yet so indecisive, it infuriated her sometimes.

“The Maker-”

“Doesn’t ‘make’ you do a damn thing, does he?  Andraste’s ass, Sebastian, we have free will.  What’s the point to a gift like that if you don’t _use_ it?”

His answering scowl made her tie off his bandage rougher than she normally would and he winced.  “Easy there,” he said.  “I may have to cut the skin underneath off to get out of this one...”

She glared at him.  “Stubbornness has it’s rewards.”  But then she relented.  “Look, I’m not trying to force your hand here.  But you have to make a choice.  Will you take responsibility for your life, or just let someone, or something, else dictate it for you?”

She stared holes into his chest, the tanned specimen of athleticism that it was.  She didn’t want to see hurt or anger in his eyes at her scathing assessment of his indecision.  Curiosity got the better of her and she looked up but Sebastian stared off into the distance, towards the Chantry.  He seemed lost in thought.   _Maker be praised, will he actually listen this time?_  Sorcha kept her thoughts to herself.  She didn’t need to belabour the point.  But the silence deafened.

“Come on.”  She said and helped him to his feet.  “This should be looked at by a proper healer.”  As she handed him his chest piece back, his warm hands encompassed hers.  It startled her for a moment, and she looked up at him.  Sebastian smiled at her and her heart pooled around her feet.  “Thank you Hawke.  I do value your insight, even if I don’t want to agree with it... it has given me something to think about.”

Her cheeks flushed scarlet and she smiled in return.  “Anytime.”

 


	9. Better

_Dearest Keila,_

_I hope all is well at the Glasidon home._

_I regret to inform you that my mother, Leandra Amell, will unable to attend your son’s birthing day celebration as she has been brutally murdered-_

“Blast.”  Sorcha’s vision blurred as the quill snapped and she felt dampness on her fingers.  The ink on the parchment started to run, ruining the missive.  She growled in frustration, crumpled the letter, and tossed it in the trash.

Sorcha stared at her desk.  She had been at it all morning.  Trying to craft notices for all of Mother’s friends.  At least a half dozen letters needed to be written.  The mountain of crumpled papers in her trash bin and the invites scattered around the desk added to the chaos.  Sorcha never did paperwork.  She felt like a novice wielding the quill instead of a sword.

She rubbed her forehead as the strain to focus eluded her.  She just felt a hole in her stomach.  The ache in her heart that would not leave.  Gamlen’s accusations rang in her ears as she wiped away the tears with ink-stained fingers.

The pile of papers on her desk looked as if it wanted to topple onto her.  The quill still smelled of Mother’s perfume.  Fergus whined at her feet, tail thumping the floor.  She had to get out of the house.  Too many memories tried to overwhelm her.  She grabbed a cloak and ran out the front door in nothing but her house clothes, leaving behind her trusty mabari.  As much as she loved her hound, Fergus was just another painful reminder of how empty the Amell estate stood.

The weather outside did nothing for her mood.  She wanted overcast, rain, the humidity of spring.  Instead a bright, clear mid afternoon sky with a crisp, cheerful breeze, and men and women crowding the Hightown markets met her melancholy mood.

It had slipped her mind, the archaic springtime festival of first crop.  Not a lot of farms surrounded Kirkwall, but in it’s history, many of the slaves had come from farmlands. They brought their holidays with them to the port city.  

Celebration of any kind reminded Hawke of her mother.  Leandra loved any excuse to have a party.  She would have been out with the other nobles, shopping and gossiping.  

With her hood drawn, the heavy cloak made Sorcha swelter.  She stewed in her own sweat as she walked and took a perverse sort of pleasure in it.  Sorcha wandered up and down the thoroughfares,  barely glancing at booths that hawked weapons, armor, jewelry, fine clothing, expensive wines, and other pointless luxuries.

It wasn’t until she hit a toy maker’s cart that she paused.  One of the dolls caught her eye.  Its oversized head, uneven arms and missing leg made it look as if the doll had been crafted by a five year old.  She picked it up and noticed the poor stitching to sew back a torn shield, the ragged threads of greyed out hair.  This doll looked like a well loved plaything, not something that belonged amongst all the finery.  It reminded her of a doll her father had once given her.  

Father had gone away with Bethany for a short time, and Sorcha knew that she and Carver had to behave for Mother or else they wouldn’t get anything special when he returned.  Carver came close to ruining her good streak by messing with Mrs. Hensworth’s swine, letting one loose to try and flush out a bear cub that had been haunting the outskirts of town.  They had recovered the pig before anyone knew it was out of the pen, but not before catching sight of the bear and running screaming for the hills, the pig dragged along behind them.

That evening, Father had returned with Bethany.  Father looked like he hadn’t slept the whole trip, his cheeks were gaunt and his eyes sunken.  Bethany’s hair was caked with dried mud and her nails bitten to the quick.  They both smelled like they hadn’t bathed in weeks.   

After they had cleaned up he brought out a gift for Sorcha for being such a good girl.  Back then, that’s all that mattered.  It was a small clay doll, with a sword, long red threads baked in for hair, and two green button eyes.  Carver got a wooden knight.  Bethany had picked them out for the both of them.

Her joy in the gift had been short lived.  She had dropped it.  In her excitement to show Mother her gift, she had dropped the doll and it had shattered on the ground.  

“I am so sorry my Lady, but that one’s not for sale.”  The merchant’s smooth voice snapped Sorcha out of her memory, startling her into dropping the doll onto the table.  It bounced harmlessly into the woman’s weathered hands.  “My darling Sara will be so happy her Genevieve has been found.  Thank you kindly, my Lady.  Was there anything here you fancied?”

Sorcha’s voice caught and tears threatened to spill, so she shook her head and excused herself.  Clenched fists at her sides and with a quickened pace she rounded the corner into a small alleyway, eyes squeezed tight.  

She was a right mess.  Some family hero she’d turned out to be.  Father, her baby brother, and now Mother.  All gone.  She couldn’t save any of them.  Bethany hated her status as a Grey Warden.  Sometimes Sorcha felt as if she hadn’t really saved her sister.  Just prolonged the inevitable.  

The roiling tempest of her mood kept her from hearing anyone but when she felt a gentle weight on her shoulder, ingrained reactions took over and she grasped the hand, drawing her dagger with the other and facing her attacker.

“Hawke!  Are you ok?”  Friend, not foe.  Blue eyes met green, and Sebastian looked at Sorcha with mounting concern.  She hadn’t recognized him out of his armor.  He wore a light vest and trousers, with his grandfather’s bow slung to his back.  His bland attire looked nothing like the festive colors of those around them.  He wore the colors of mourning.

She tried to say something, but realized her face was a mess, her heart hurt, and a friend stood right in front of her.  With a strangled sob she dropped his hand and rushed him.  He grunted in surprise as Hawke hugged him close and broke down sobbing.

No one had ever seen her like this.  She always had to be strong.  She had to keep her head clear of distractions during battle.  Needed to make the snap decision to win the day or get out alive.  Not every choice had been easy or the wisest, but it’s what being in charge demanded.  But in her grief for her mother, something inside her felt broken.  It made her question just how strong she thought she was.  Instead of the flush of battle, she felt only the sting of anguish.  

Sebastian brushed her hood back and smoothed his hand over her hair, murmuring softly into her temple while she cried on his shoulder.  

Minutes passed and when Sorcha’s tide of tears ebbed, she pulled back.  Sebastian’s hands lingered, as if he didn’t want to let her go.  She stayed in his arms and stared at his chest, plucking at his damp shirt with her fingers.  The nervous gesture surfaced in her emotional turmoil; a testament to how vulnerable she felt.  “I am so sorry Sorcha.  I meant to come but... you seemed you wanted time alone.”

After they had returned from the sewers, Sorcha had closed herself off from her friends.  Leandra’s mangled body had been interred at the Chantry while Hawke made arrangements.  Sorcha had been disconnected, dismissing Varric, Anders and himself without saying another word. Sebastian had worried about her, but he knew she needed time.

She wiped at her cheeks, eyes reddened but no less beautiful.  “I’m sorry for mussing your fine suit, blubbering like a child.”

“No need to apologize.  I understand completely.”  His hand touched her chin, lifting it and for a moment their eyes locked.  She knew he understood what the pain of losing all of your family could do.  It didn’t matter the baggage you carried from them, they were still blood.  He knew.  

Every fiber of her being sang in tension.  She wanted comfort.  She knew he could feel it.  She wanted to kiss him and his mouth, bare inches away from hers, begged for her to take the next step.

But the reality of the situation caught up with them, and he dropped his hand.  He would not, could not kiss her.  Not while she felt so raw.  She wanted to scream in frustration but a better part of her understood.  

“Where were you heading?”  His voice sounded steady as he tried for a safer topic. “I would be more than happy to keep you company if you’d like to talk.”

She sniffled and shook her head, disappointment plain on her face before she closed off again.  “I should get back.  There are arrangements to be made still.  The fresh air has helped clear my head some.”  She watched as relief and dismay warred on his face and she put a hand on his for a brief moment.  “Thank you, Sebastian.”

He gave her a sad smile and as she headed off towards the Amell estate she felt his eyes on her the whole way.

 


	10. Both Ways

Just like that, everything changed.

On the prow of Isabela’s ship, Hawke looked at her hands, at the blood caked underneath her fingernails.  Templar blood.  Mage blood.  The blood Sebastian had so desperately wanted - Anders - absent.

_I will march an army on Kirkwall for this!_

She squeezed her eyes shut.  She should have known Anders had lied about his condition.  She really wanted him cured of the demon.  She trusted that he had things handled.  

She was a fool.

The ash from the Chantry still floated on the breeze.  The smell of burnt flesh invaded her nostrils.  Thoughts of the dead, Elthina, anyone within fifty yards of the Chantry.  All gone.  

Visions of the blood magic Orsino wielded made her want to scream, nightmare fuel for the rest of her life.  The same magic that stole her mother from her.

When the Chantry exploded, Sorcha’s heart had sunk.  Anders, in all his Vengeance fueled fury, stood up to Meredith and Orsino, righteous in his defiance.  Sebastian’s pained cry echoed in her head.

Sorcha knew that the status quo could not remain forever.  She could feel it in her bones.  Maybe  it she was her Father’s daughter in this.  She knew mages were people, a people stuck in a vicious cycle of abuse.  Her sister had survived untempted by demons.  Why could they not see that magic was just a tool?

She couldn’t forgive Anders.  But she couldn’t make him a martyr, and she refused to side with Knight Commander Meredith.  The Templars waged war on those that they were supposed to protect.  She could not abide by it.

The look of betrayal in Sebastian’s eyes had broken something inside her.  She couldn’t fault him for being furious.  Elthina had been his mother after a fashion.  And so many innocents had died.

The body count would continue to rise on both sides.  

It had to be stopped.  But not by her.

“Three weeks time before we hit Antiva, Hawke.  Ready to have some fun?”  Isabela hopped up next to Sorcha and bumped her hip, stirring her from her thoughts.  With a last look at the receding fire lined skyline that had been her home for the last decade, she numbly nodded to her friend.

“Time to be a proper fugitive.”

 


	11. Naked

Sorcha splashed the icy water on her face to try and wake up.  The hovel she had camped in last night still felt damp from the morning dew.  A glance over at the subtle rustling in the floor boards confirmed her suspicions from last night: the floor boards were full of termites. At least no one lived here now.  No one had lived here in over a decade.

The threadbare cot with her blanket and cloak creaked as Fergus jumped up into the warmth she had left behind.  She scratched behind his ears, grabbed her sword and headed outside for some air.  

Sunlight crested the hill over by the old tavern, highlighting the ruins of the building.  Lothering had not fared well through the Blight.  All of the residents had died or fled.  Why, after three years on the run, she had decided to come back here, she didn’t know.  But it had been time to come back to her roots.

She had heard the rumors.  Circles all over Thedas rebelled against their Templar keepers.  Anders had his war.  Mages and Templars slaughtered each other in the streets, in towns, in the villages.  Shortly after the events in Kirkwall, she had been in Ansburg, dodging Seekers and Templars alike when she heard about the mages rising up there.

It had been difficult sticking to villages and small towns while she ran.  Everyone looked at a stranger as someone to fear, so opportunities to work so she could feed herself and Fergus had been scarce.  Less than a year ago, she finally landed a job with a shipping company and spent time at sea.  It had been a miserable year, but running away from the worlds problems seemed like a good idea.  

Some Champion she turned out to be.

Fereldan seemed to be the only place that hadn’t caught the rebellion fever.  The Blight had only been gone ten years, but it had left it's mark. The chapel had only the slightest foundation left. None of the Chantry's trappings had survived.  Only the Mother Superiors garden had recovered, though wild grasses seemed the only thing to flourish.

The Hawke farmstead was a hole in the ground. The barn had been all that stood, though with the termites, that wouldn't be for much longer.

She had arrived on foot late last night so she hadn’t much time to sightsee.  She had to scare a bear out of her sleeping spot.  A skinny slip of a bear, but its fur hadn’t been patchy, so she felt certain it hadn’t been sick.  Fergus had enjoyed the chase at least.  

Now that dawn had come and before she inspected anything else, she looked for her father’s tree.

The sun warmed the morning air and while the land may have been ravaged by taint and darkspawn, all things recovered in time.  When she reached the tree, Sorcha had tossed her cloak over her shoulder and had broken a sweat.  Another reminder that she needed to bathe.  So much time to think, out on her own.

Her companions hadn't stayed with her for long. They drifted off one by one.  Merrill first.  She had wished them well and chartered a ship to Tevinter to continue her search for a fix for that mirror of hers.  Sorcha still wore the ring Merrill had made for her before leaving. She wondered how her Dalish friend faired.

Fenris and Isabela were content to keep pirating.  Hawke’s desire to stay at sea had waned and she needed the land beneath her feet.  So she wished her friends well in their adventures and continued on foot with Varric in tow.  The dwarf had gone on his own when rumors of trouble in Antiva started cropping up.  Sorcha wanted to get away from the fighting, not run towards it.

All the while, Bethany had been out of reach, and out of touch.  Grey Warden things.  Sorcha almost considered signing up, but when she last saw her sister and mentioned it, Bethany had strongly advised against it.  So no avenue there.  Still, she missed her sister.

Rumor that Anders had been found and killed for his crimes had surfaced at the port in Wycome, but the damage had been done.  Whether he regretted what he did... she’ll never know.

As for news of Starkhaven and Sebastian, she avoided it.  Thinking about Sebastian made her blood boil and her heart ache.  She never heard if he got that army and marched it on Kirkwall.  She hadn’t heard from Aveline since a few months after she had fled the city.

A large oak tree filled her view.  When she reached the tree, she crouched down.  What had been a sapling, planted on her father’s death, now stood a strong young tree.  Her vision blurred.  She thought it had been taken in the Blight.  Rubbing a hand over the bark, the rough texture felt strong.  Her insides felt flimsy.  Her thoughts, scattered.

“I miss you Papa.”

The flight from Lothering, the Blight and darkspawn.  The place where her nightmare of the past decade had started.

Loneliness opened its maw and swallowed her whole.  When she had opened up to someone, they always left.  One way or another.  She tired of wandering.  But she couldn’t take the pressure anymore.  She thought if she came here she could capture a feeling of home.  But looking at the abandoned village, that hadn’t recovered, not even in the slightest in the ten years, she felt nothing.  She found no peace here.

She was no advocate.  She was just one warrior.  A hired sword.  A failed leader.  A bad daughter.  She couldn’t keep anyone safe, let alone alive.  She slid down the tree trunk and sat hard on the ground with a grunt.  Not wanting to move or go anywhere.  Where did she have to go?

“I thought I’d find you here.”

 


	12. Kiss You to Death

Sorcha awkwardly drew her sword from her sitting position.  She looked around, but the voice had come from above her.

Looking up, she saw a figure, shadowed by the budding leaves in the morning sunlight.  She had dreaded and longed to hear that voice for years now.  Her own voice came out rough, as if she hadn’t spoken aloud much as of late.  “Come to take me in?  Took you long enough to find me.”

In one fluid motion Sebastian dropped down from his perch a few sword lengths away from her.  His grandfather’s bow still sat slung over his shoulder, but his armor had changed.  The white gleam of his father’s Chantry commissioned piece and the head of Andraste at his belt were gone.  They had been replaced with the dark leathers and the bright sigil of the Seekers on his chest.  Sorcha’s eyes widened.  “What happened to retaking Starkhaven?”

He said nothing, just looked at her.  Sorcha looked like a shadow of her former self.  Gaunt eyes, her hair, still the long lovely braid, had frazzled, stray hairs all over the place.  Without her armor on, her clothes hung loose.  She started to blush under the scrutiny  and glared back at him.  “Well, are you going to just stare at me until I confess something?”

Sebastian shook his head.  “No.  No confession.  None needed.  The world burns. By the looks of you, you’ve seemed to have given up on it.”  

“No,” she replied hotly.  “I never wanted what he did.  I never wanted war.  But it came.  There wasn’t anything I could do to stop it.”  She bristled, her back to the tree as he took a step forward.

He stopped a sword’s length from her, his expression pained.  “You could have killed him for it.”  

“To what end?!  I am NOT an executioner, Sebastian!  He needed to confront the consequences of his actions, but that was not my job.”  

“He killed innocent men, women and children.  You were the Champion.  How could you not have passed judgement?”

“Because I should have stopped him!”  She hoisted herself up from the ground and threw her sword to the ground. Tossing her hands in the air she spat out.  “I should have seen what he was doing, I should have stopped him, I should have done a lot of things, but I COULDN’T do it!  Congratulations Sebastian, I’m not bloody perfect!”

He looked so calm as she exploded and the desire to wipe it all away bubbled up inside her.  She had wallowed in her misery for years.  She didn’t know how to think anymore.

She unclenched her hands and turned.  “Why are you even here?  How did you become a Seeker?”  

“Justice took precedence.”  A simple statement, but loaded with meaning.

That caused her to pause.  “You did it then.”  It all made sense, events clicked into place, the rumors she had caught in passing.  “You found Anders and you killed him.”

That collected exterior of his finally cracked and he grimaced.  “No, but that doesn’t matter.  Even in death, he has gotten his wish.  He started the war.”

“That’s it?  You just missed him?  No outrage that you didn’t kill Elthina’s murderer?”

At the mention of her name, Sebastian’s face pained.  It took him a moment to answer.  “If you had killed him when you had the chance, countless other lives could have been spared.”

“I didn’t know what he planned to do!”

“I know!  But you had the choice, you had him and you let him go.”  

She turned away.  She couldn’t look at him, not while he made sense.  Sebastian was right.  She had had the choice.  But Anders had been a friend.  Now... the countless arguments with herself during sleepless nights came back all in a rush.  

Her voice cracked, thick with regret. “I know.  Just one more failure in a pile of failures.  I failed Merrill for not telling her to stop dealing with a demon, and Anders by not seeing the abomination inside.  I failed my mother in protecting Carver and Bethany.  I failed her again when Quentin took her life.”  Tears trailed down her cheeks.  “But we can’t all wait for divine inspiration.  We’re only human.”  

She felt a hand on her shoulder.  It startled her and she turned, not having heard Sebastian move.  This close, she could see the worry lines crease his brow.  The past three years may have not been kind to her, but he looked just as worn.  His voice gentled.  “You’re not a failure.  Sorcha, I didn’t come here to turn you in.  I came to find you.  I came for you.  Long ago a fool was so angry at you that he threatened to bring an army against you.  I am not that fool anymore.”

She looked into his face and said, “I’m not sorry for standing with the mages, Sebastian.”

His other hand reached up and  rubbed at her cheek, wiping at her tears.  “I know.”

Human touch had been a foreign concept to her since she left Kirkwall.  She could feel Sebastian’s breath on her face, and her body felt like lead.  The past few years of loneliness, listless wandering, apathy and anger coalesced into the pit of her stomach and she felt fit to burst.  She also felt every speck of road dirt, the bark in the tree trunk behind her, all the sweat and a strange cloying scent that surrounded him.  “What _is_ that dreadful smell?”

He looked surprised for a moment, then shook his head and laughed.  “Maker, just shut up.”  He pressed his lips against hers and she forgot about trivial things like dirt.  His mouth felt warm and she wrapped her arms around him to steady herself.  

So many restless nights in Kirkwall she had dreamt of kissing Sebastian.  She never thought it’d be under these circumstances.

Her lips were dry and hesitant at first but warmed to him.  He had waited years for this.  He had a long time to reflect on that night, and all the days and nights before, when they had been there for each other.  When he felt her hands on his shoulders he pressed her up against the tree.  

In their eagerness, they had closed out their surroundings, so when the low growl pierced the roar of blood in their ears, Sorcha gasped.  “Fergus, no!”

They tore away from each other just as the mabari lunged, separating the two.  A hundred pounds of solid mabari snarled at Sebastian and stood between the two of them.  Sorcha’s heart fluttered in her throat and she put a calming hand on Fergus.  “Down boy.”

Sebastian coughed.  “Guess the herb wasn’t potent enough.”  The mabari stopped growling, but continued to eye him.  When Sorcha gave him another pat, Fergus snorted and licked her hand, then turned and padded back towards the abandoned village.  

“What herb?”  Hawke’s face still flushed red, but her color seemed to be returning to normal.  

Rubbing the back of his neck, Sebastian shrugged.  “Wolf’s bane.  It’s supposed to dull a mabari’s sense of smell.”  He watched the retreating animal.  “Guess not.”

She laughed.  The tension that had threatened to choke her moments before seeped from her body.  It felt good to laugh again.  “You really thought up all the angles, didn’t you?”

She turned to follow Fergus, but Sebastian caught her hand in his before she could take another step.  “Sorcha, wait-”

She gripped his hand in hers and looked at him.  “Sebastian, Maker knows I am either delirious and this is all a dream or fate has a cruel sense of humor.  If I don’t go soak my head in the river, I’m going to go mad.”

Shaking his head, he tugged at her hand.  “Then, we can talk?”

She pulled him with her.  “Sure.  After you wash that god awful herb out of your hair.”  The smirk she threw him over her shoulder told him that washing his hair wasn’t all she wanted him to do.

 


	13. If You Let Me Be Your Anchor

“So what happened in Starkhaven?” Freshly bathed and acquainted, Sorcha snuggled into the crook of Sebastian’s arm, her ear to his chest.  The afternoon sun warmed them while they laid at the river’s edge, their clothes in a rough pile from where they discarded them earlier.  She sighed as she heard his steady heartbeat through his chest.  His voice rumbled as he sighed.  

“I returned not long after Kirkwall.  My cousin, Geran, almost had a civil war on his hands.  Duke Savis, a prominent noble in my father’s court, had positioned himself to take control with the rest of the nobility on board to back him.  Geran was making deals with Tevinter.  It was a poor move on my cousin’s part.  My people have no love for the Imperials.”  He shifted his weight but his arm encircled her waist and pulled her closer.

“Then the war came.  I couldn’t unite the nobles without Templar help.  The nobility feared the coming war and were divided on how to face it.  A riot broke out at Starkhaven’s Circle and it burned to the ground, again.  The city went into a frenzy.  All the fighting, in my home.”  Sorcha leaned her head back to watch his face as it contorted in memory.

“The Seekers came asking questions about you.  When I told them I had no time, I had a city to take care of, they made me an offer.  They would protect and serve Starkhaven, appointing Serrah Klarian as a Regent.  In exchange they wanted my services to the Divine in locating you and the abomination.  Sister Nightingale made the offer.”  Sorcha’s brows rose in recognition.  Sebastian shrugged.  “I took it.  With the people of Starkhaven taken care of, my focus was to bring Elthina’s murderer to justice.”  He glanced down at her.  “And finding you.”  

Sorcha looked down and her fingers traced circles on his chest.  The gesture tingled and gave him goosebumps.  “So Starkhaven is no longer a Vael legacy  but a Templar stronghold?”

He sighed.  “Yes and no.  With noble backing, I can reclaim the throne from the Regent.  But I have been gone for over two years, with very little word of what has gone on in Starkhaven in my absence.  And though the Seekers and Templars are no longer with the Chantry,  I still serve The Divine.  I cannot be the only one who disagrees with the fission.”

“Always in service, never served, eh?”  She smirked and he placed a stray kiss on her forehead.  

“It is my lot in life.  The people of Starkhaven are better off with structure in place.  I would cause more strife in trying take over from the Seekers.”

“That’s bullshit.” Sorcha’s bare chest rubbed his as she sat up.  The skin to skin contact kept him distracted, as well as the view.  White scars covered her arms, chest and shoulders.  The freckles that dusted her cheeks topped her shoulders as well.  It took him a moment to realize she still berated him.  “I can’t believe after all this time you still wanted to run.”  

“No.  I didn’t run.  The people of Starkhaven were safe.  I had fulfilled my responsibility to them.  I could only further benefit them by seeking out justice where and when I could.”  His hand ran up the side of her arm to rest on her shoulder.  “And I had to find you.”

“That’s no excuse.  You were furious at me, enough to leave me in the middle of battle.”  She looked away and he brought her face back to his.

“I had to apologize.  I ran from you that day at the Gallows.  Even in pain, I should not have abandoned you.  I cannot change what I did, but during the long march to Starkhaven, I realized something.”

Sebastian sat up and put both hands on either side of her face, cradling it.  He feared he’d never get this chance.  To say all the things he thought about while he searched for her.  Looking into her eyes, he never wanted to leave her again.  

“I’m sorry, Sorcha.  For all the pain I have caused.  I should never have done what I did.  Not to the woman I love.”

She brought her hands up to cover his and froze.  “You’ve never said-”

“I know, and I should have.  I love you, Sorcha.  Please, come home with me.”

 


	14. I Go To The Barn Because I Like The

As the ship pulled into the dock, Sorcha’s fight or flight instincts kicked in.  This plan of Sebastian’s had to be a terrible idea.  He made it sound as if going back into the belly of the beast and getting involved in the war would make things better.  He had a compelling argument; she wouldn’t be alone.

Sebastian gripped her hand in his.  Looking at his face, she could see his love.  That he waited for her she knew that if she faltered, he would be there to support her.  They had argued on their way down the Minantar River whether she would come out with him.  The fugitive Champion on the hand of the Prince.  But he was determined that everyone see, and to the Fade with the naysayers.  

As she walked onto the dock with Sebastian, she thought of what she would say to the Seekers.  Sebastian confirmed with the Margrave of Ansburg that those still loyal to the Divine had taken residence in Starkhaven.  His home had always been a staunch supporter of the Chantry, and those who shared their view had flocked to Starkhaven as a rock in the sea of change.

She picked at her new leather belt, and Fergus pushed her hand up from the nervous gesture.  It felt strange being out of armor and yet being on Champion business.  She had sold her champion’s armor  before she took the bodyguard job, not wanting plate to weigh her down on a ship at sea.  Plus, she had needed the gold at the time.  Still, she felt naked in just clothes.  So, they compromised and found a well crafted set of leathers she could wear back to the city.  Sebastian’s royal upbringing influenced the purchase of such beautiful craftsmanship, and the tanner even custom fit it for her.

She paused on the dock, as the sailors called back and forth and Sebastian stood next to her.  Sorcha turned to him.  “Are you sure about this?  I can’t see how my being here is going to bring any sort of peace.  I’m the dreaded Champion of Kirkwall, the scapegoat of every templar from here to Orlais.”

Sebastian shook his head and smiled for her.  “I would not have it any other way.  You are the perfect balance to the sentiment of mages as monsters.  They _are_ people and I need everyone to see that, more than ever.  This war won’t be won with one side destroying the other.  The Maker would not wish his children to wholesale slaughter.”

She huffed and looked over at the city. “If you say so.”

As Sebastian started forward, she stepped with him.  It was time to put on the show of her life.  She hoped she didn’t stumble.

 


	15. Epilogue - The Luckiest

  
Dust stirred on the floor of the crypt as the door opened.  The wash of stale air inside rushed out into the warm summer night. Webs lined the corner of the doorway, and the faint scamper of rodents faded as the door opened all the way.

Three figures walked inside.  Light from a torch one figure held aloft illuminated a large room with two large stone tombs in the center.  Lined along the walls were countless crypts, each full of generation after generation all the way to the first Prince Vael.

The smallest figure of the three walked ahead, leaving tiny footprints in her wake.  “Oh Mummy look!  There’s a rat.”  The little girl giggled and started forward to follow up on her discovery, only to be swept up in her father’s arms.  Her feet and braids dangled above the dusty floor and she turned to protest her predicament.

“Now, now, Leandra.  We’re not here to greet the rats, love.”  Sebastian’s warm smile killed Leandra’s protest and she scrunched her freckled nose.  “Ok, Papa.”

A chuckle came from behind them, and Sorcha, torch held high, walked forward.  She ran a hand over her very round belly, her joints aching but the glow of pregnancy softened in the torch light.  Looking at her daughter, she said.  “Besides, it’s bed time.  You’re very lucky your father saw you first.”

Duly chastised, the little girl sighed.  “But I’ve always wanted to see in here.  It’s so big!  And old!”

She held onto her father’s hand as he put her down and they walked up to the tombs.  The craftsmanship of the stone work looked as if both tombs had grown from the floor, not been carried in after the fact.  Delicate patterns and reliefs dotted the sides, laced with obsidian and jasper.  Both materials were foreign to the river valley that Starkhaven called home.  The Starkhaven crest with the Vael banner stood at the head of each tomb.

Sebastian reached out his other hand to Sorcha.  His face had more lines now, and the hair at his temple had started to grey.  War and hard times had weathered them both.  But now they could breathe.  The battlefront had moved, and Starkhaven was at peace.

The grounds had been in need of repair.  The door to the family crypt had been blocked for years.  It had taken months for them to have it cleared.  Now, Sebastian could be at peace.

He had wanted to introduce his family to his family.  He had never thought he’d be given a chance.  With a subdued happiness, he brought both of his girls up to Lady Vael’s resting place.

“Hello Mother.  I’d like you to meet your granddaughter.”

 


End file.
